When I was a little girl my dad would have me step onto his feet so he could dance me. At weddings and parties, I could always count on my dad to thrill me on the dance floor. My parents loved to dance – I’d watch them rock the dance floor when the Rock and Roll and Swing sets came on – they were amazing to watch.
My father is a fantastic dancer, light on his feet and a great leader. Very patient, persistent and easy going. In my late teens and twenties he taught me how to Tango, it didn’t matter how many times I messed up the steps, he never hinted in anyway that I wasn’t doing a good job. He’d say “Wait Princess, just watch me” and he’d show me the steps again til I got them right. And whenever I would get to frustrated he’d Waltz me around the room and spin me around till I was beaming smiles and laughing with joy (I was definitely daddy’s little princess).
My grandfather loved music, he always had instrument on hand. Whenever we would go visit he would hop on the piano, pull out the guitar or the banjo and play for us. The living room space was wide open and I take center stage and dance my 8 year old heart out. I’d drag my big brother off the couch and onto his feet. Everyone present was happy in those moments.
In my model of the world – music & dancing are necessity; akin to airing out the soul.
My first boyfriend and I would dance our young hearts out at every opportunity. The Montreal Jazz Festival was the epitome of our dance pleasures – dancing to Cuban and Brazilian beats in the streets, under the summer night sky, surrounded by hundreds of people. They were incredible moments.
When I stopped to think about this I realized that the men that have lit me up the most are the ones that have danced me. They made me smile and beam and feel the sense of freedom that my heart seeks.
Ironically, in that sense of freedom comes a great level of trust. Something about not feeling obliged, not being logically engaged, and the dynamic of give and take, lead and follow. The interchange between touch and “not touch”, the come and go. The way life is meant to be. Think of the ocean coming in and out of the shore. It’s the sense of knowing that you’re not stuck, you keep moving in harmony in and out of eachother, as separate beings moving to the same rythmn.
There’s only been handful of men like this; come and gone, but there’s a very special in place my heart for each and every one of them.